


Kintsugi, or The Aesthetics of Mending

by Tea_and_roses



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Angst, Ciel actually acts like a kid, Contracts, F/M, Faustian Bargain, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 00:59:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6634627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tea_and_roses/pseuds/Tea_and_roses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ciel and Sebastian share a relationship based on the shoring up of exposed vulnerabilities. Thus, when a dangerous piece of demon trivia topples the façade Sebastian created for himself, an empathetic Ciel is determined to comfort his shattered demon back to health… at least until a harrowing circumstance forces Ciel to choose between hurting his demon or his fiancée.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kintsugi, or The Aesthetics of Mending

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mitzvahmelting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitzvahmelting/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Ciel is not afraid of his demon.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5207306) by [mitzvahmelting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitzvahmelting/pseuds/mitzvahmelting). 



> This is Sebastian and Ciel not as I like to imagine them in my fluffy Holidays universe, and certainly not as they are portrayed in canon, but rather as I picture them fitting into mitzvah (melting)’s clever series titled (my black butler interpretation). Many thanks to mitzvah for creating this universe, and then inviting readers to continue it!
> 
> This story is set just where the fourth and final work in that series ends. True to that universe’s character dynamic, Ciel acts like a child, and true to that universe’s creative mythology, any pain that Sebastian suffers at the hands of a contract-holder is magnified tenfold. 
> 
> P.S.: Kintsugi is the lovely art of mending broken pottery using gold.

Hours passed that morning, seeping together like pigment spreading through a watercolor painting, but eventually, Ciel’s fingers running through Sebastian’s hair stilled.

“I disapprove of this change in your aesthetic, Sebastian.”

Sebastian—still lying facedown, as if he might bury his shame and despair along with his face in one of Ciel’s pillows—withdrew enough to speak coherently. “I will continue to abide by your orders, My Lord. Only command me to be as I was.”

“I will not—no, _cannot_ —order you to feel better.” Ciel laughed bitterly. “No one, however powerful, can hope to govern the feelings of another.”

“Order me to perform my tasks, then. My behavior is ill-befitting a butler. It is disgraceful to allow my feelings, on this or any matter, to assume control of my behavior.”

Images of Sebastian the dog rose unbidden in Ciel’s mind, and the earl spoke more kindly than he probably ought. It was terribly difficult to remember, in a haze of depression and guilt, that the beautiful, shattered being before him was _evil_.

“You could never be disgraceful. You serve me loyally, Sebastian. I owe you the best treatment I can give a servant, from now until the time I repay my debt to you.” Ciel ran one finger down the butler’s richly clothed back, then withdrew his touch hesitantly. “If it is I who have broken you, it must also be I who reassembles you.”

“I am not a piece of pottery, Young Master,” the demon reproved. He sounded like himself for just a moment—arch and amused and condescending—before dissolving back into hopelessness.

“I have a new order for you, Sebastian.”

The butler, motionless, did not respond.

“If I ever attempt to harm you, Sebastian, I want you to prevent me. Use any means necessary, short of taking my life or permanently injuring me. …You are to endure no harm at my hands. If you cannot trust my word, you can trust this order.” Ciel laid a cautious hand on Sebastian’s shoulder.

The demon shuddered involuntarily, then gave a mirthless laugh. “You desire that things return to normal between us.”

“Things _will_ return to normal between us,” the earl insisted, petulant and childlike.

Sebastian sighed. “You long for that, I understand, but I will never be able to exist beside you comfortably. How am I to trust your touch? I serve already as a weapon in the hand of a determined murderer.”

“I am just, Sebastian, but not cruel.”

“You are human, My Lord.”

“I cannot help _that—_!”

“Just so. Humans are remarkably fickle; you may change or lie without even intending to do so. Though you mean me no harm—even if you truly believe this to be so—neither of us should expect such a circumstance to go on indefinitely.”

“You _must_ believe me, Sebastian!” Ciel’s hands curled into fists and struck the bed hard, as frustration and futility raged in the earl’s small body.

Sebastian smiled, viewing Ciel’s posture as evidence—the fulfillment of the demon’s prophecy. “See? Already you grow angry with me. Do you not wish to strike me?”

“No! I will _never_ _hurt you,_ Sebastian. Never.”

“We shall see.”

Ciel, calming his anger, deliberately selected a reassuring tone before replying.

“We will indeed,” the earl answered easily. “Now…Will you stand?”

“I will do anything the young master bids,” Sebastian assured, rising gracefully, straightening mussed hair and disheveled uniform in an instant.

“I will not initiate physical contact with you if it makes you so jumpy,” Ciel announced. “However, I still have need of you, as my butler and as my…” ( _Friend_ and _pet_ , though they came to mind, were the wrong words) “…companion.”

Sebastian quirked his eyebrows at this but said nothing.

“Therefore I shall direct you to see to my needs, but you may rest comfortable in the fact that I will not touch you suddenly, or unkindly.”

“As you wish.”

“Sit beside me on the bed.” Ciel patted the coverlet and waited: ankles crossed, shoulders relaxed, demure.

The demon sat directly beside him, fluidly draping himself into the space.

“Place your arms around me,” the earl continued.

Sebastian drew Ciel to his side, arms holding the boy reassuringly.

“You see?” Ciel whispered into Sebastian’s jacket. “ _I_ am the vulnerable one who needs comforting. I am a child with no parents, or home, or capability, except for you. You grant me all those things—training and caring for me, re-making this manor, seeing to my revenge… everything. I have _nothing_ for you, Sebastian, but gratitude.”

“You are very kind, My Lord.”

Ciel’s hands delicately twined around the demon’s waist. “It is as much as you deserve.”

 

Normality was somewhat restored by lunchtime. Sebastian did not flinch when Ciel handled the silverware necessary to eat, and neither party spoke of the events of the past week. The only allusion to them, which Sebastian found he did not actually mind at all, came at the end of the meal.

“Sebastian,” Ciel summoned him, just as the earl finished eating. “I want you to take that vase—” (the boy nodded at a large, slate-colored ceramic vase sitting in the center of the table in the sunroom where he had taken lunch), “—and I want you to keep it in your quarters from now on.”

Sebastian observed the vase in question, which currently bore a resplendent armful of fresh lilies. Where it had once had cracks, the vase was veined in rich gold, distinctly visible against its charcoal-grey color. Someone had solidly and artfully rebuilt it, gilding every fracture.

“My Lord, I am hardly deserving of something so fine.”

“Do you know how this was made, Sebastian?”

“The art of _kintsugi_ is familiar to me, yes.”

“Would you not agree that this piece is both more interesting and more valuable in its present condition than when it first was made?”

“Without question, My Lord.”

“Will it pain you to look upon it?”

Sebastian considered for a moment. “It will not.”

“Then you must keep it. Display the vase in your room from now on.”

“As you wish, My Lord.” Sebastian hesitated. “I must thank you for such a rich and thoughtful gift.”

Even amidst the white-gold sunbeams streaming into the room, Ciel’s smile was radiant.

 

A month of summer passed pleasantly enough—and the ties between demon and master were all but mended—when one sultry, rainy afternoon destroyed all of Ciel’s good efforts. The day would end with Ciel shooting Sebastian, living out the hypothetical he had mentioned offhandedly weeks before and deeply regretted since, but it began far more simply.

The morning was full of small and careless incidents that should never have occurred at all. As soon as the earl had obtained his tea—and Sebastian had provided his extraneous, grandiose description of its origins—Ciel ordered the meddling Phantomhive servants far from the manor. He had a fiancée to entertain after all, and no patience for any disruptive antics.

“You truly doubt that Lady Elizabeth could endure a few hours in the staff’s presence?” Sebastian inquired, calmly offering a dish of scones. His butler was the picture of dispassion, but something about the question irked Ciel.

“Why should she ‘ _endure’_ anything? Last time, Mey-Rin spilled tea in Lizzie’s lap and ruined her dress, and Finny knocked a tree down in the middle of the garden that almost killed her. My fiancée shouldn’t feel like her life and property are in danger every bloody time she visits!”

“And Baldroy?” Sebastian pretended to be earnest.

“Lizzie is my fiancée! She _can’t eat charred food_!”

“As you wish, My Lord,” Sebastian demurred, and continued with his morning chores.

 

When it was time to dress, Ciel declined the various weapons Sebastian laid out for him, choosing only one pistol.

“You grow careless, My Lord,” Sebastian observed, nonetheless dressing and arming Ciel according to the earl’s directions.

“ _You_ forget your place,” Ciel snapped. He was grumpy from staying up too late, reading business reports and then books for pleasure. “Lizzie does not need to feel she is entering a warzone when she sets foot on the property to spend the afternoon with me. I doubt she finds it ‘cute’ for me to stuff my pockets and belt full of guns.”

Sebastian considered that there were some things even Lady Elizabeth prized above cuteness—the lives of herself and those she loved, as she had once demonstrated—but recalled his place and said nothing.

 

Again, hours passed—the servants departed and Lizzie arrived—and Sebastian served tea with sandwiches that were aesthetically pleasing and perfectly edible. And then, below a muggy afternoon sky, Sebastian excused himself to the farthest corner of the property to dispatch a host of well-armed intruders, and so the afternoon really began.

This arrangement left the other edges of the grounds, and specifically Ciel and Elizabeth in the garden, rather poorly guarded in the case of additional attackers. There were ten of these, and an abundance of guns, and Lizzie had brought no swords. Ciel, on the whim of a grouchy morning, had just the one pistol, which he brandished rather ineffectually. It was hardly a surprise to anyone when the scene settled down to a gun held to Elizabeth’s head, and several more directed at Ciel, who had been cursorily disarmed.

“If you would like me to make you rich,” Ciel bartered, thinking of chess and hoping he looked as calm as his stoic fiancée, “—you will not harm her in any way. We can certainly negotiate terms without a gun being used as an incentive.”

Ciel was careful to keep himself statue-still, to avoid giving the gunmen a start; he dared not even remove his eye patch to summon Sebastian. Perhaps he could wait out the demon’s present engagement across the property.

“And if we don’t go in for that kind of negotiation?”

“Well then,” said Ciel, smiling from behind steepled fingers, “I’m sure my butler will be glad to see to you.”

Sebastian, beautifully executing his most… effective methods, was just visible in the distance. Ciel attempted to summon him without words, without movement, without uncovering the contract symbol. _Surely_ their thoughts could connect; Ciel was concentrating so hard on the impossible task it felt as if he were rearranging his brain, shoving other things aside and putting every energy into this one concerted effort…

“You think he’ll come over here and do that to us, eh?”

“If you don’t negotiate with me.” (This same outcome would also happen if they _did_ negotiate, but Ciel conveniently left out that bit.) “He does whatever I order of him.”

“Then order him to come over here, and stand right there.” A place was indicated some distance from the tea table. “But no more ’n ten paces away, or _somebody’ll_ lose their head.”

“No _more_ than ten paces?” growled a rough voice that made the intruders shiver. A whirlwind of black fog spun across the grounds, catapulting into the garden. “ _Is THIS close enou_ —”

“SEBASTIAN!” Ciel shouted, desperate. He could already envision Lizzie’s blood spilling onto the grass; this was no time for Sebastian to be dramatic. “You know what they meant. Do _not_ approach Lizzie.”

“My Lord—”

“JUST DO IT!” Ciel’s voice came out shaky, which was at least as embarrassing as the series of moronic mistakes that had put them all in this situation.

Subdued, Sebastian appeared once again in human guise, dropping elegantly onto the precise spot the gunman had indicated. His transformation had temporarily petrified the intruders, with very good reason, but once he was confined thus by his master, they appeared to take his powers in stride. Sebastian was indignant; a gunfight was hardly an appropriate time to leash up one’s demon like a dog.

“Next, tell him t’ hold real still, ’til you say so.”

“I order you to not move, Sebastian, until I command you. Now _stay_.”

Sebastian, seething, bowed his head deferentially. The intruders still looked faintly shaken by him, and hesitant to induce his anger; they correctly realized that he was their primary threat.

“Right, let’s see you be good ’n’ reasonable. There’s a good lad.” One of the gunmen stepped up behind Ciel and placed Ciel’s gun back into his grasp, simultaneously locking a large hand around the boy’s wrist to keep the gun aimed in the right direction. “Now, you can have this back, but you shoot the butler first. Ain’t a fair fight the way it stands.”

“A fair fight?” Ciel laughed. “Don’t be absurd. I will not shoot my own butler.”

The safety of the gun directed at Lizzie was pointedly disarmed.

“You have three counts to get it right, or it’s your lady friend goes instead.”

Ciel, wrist still locked in the gunman’s grip, leveled his pistol at Sebastian’s heart. The demon promptly regretted long hours of training; the boy could scarcely hit the target at all when they had begun, but now he would never miss his shot.

“One…”

_Liar!_ Sebastian wanted to shriek. So much for all Ciel’s promises to never use the punishment clause or do him any harm. The order to stand still and endure the shot was outlandish. And yet, now that it was in place, contractually Sebastian could move only to save Ciel’s life.

Also, no one had said anything about Lizzie, and therefore, if Ciel now opened his mouth and tried to say something—to the effect of ordering Sebastian to save her—she would be shot before Ciel’s order was spoken and Sebastian had permission to move.

The demon considered indignantly that, according to recent orders, he was not meant to endure physical pain from Ciel’s hand except to save Ciel’s life. However, the loss of Lizzie was probably meant to be considered a “permanent injury” to Ciel, and there was certainly a stipulation in a recent order forbidding that. Normally, Sebastian took great pleasure in capitalizing on loopholes and making his masters suffer for their own carelessness, but he found no inclination to do so with this particular master. Despite everything, there was something about this brat of a master that Sebastian found surprisingly admirable—his single-minded commitment to a chosen aesthetic? His cunning? His inexhaustible courage? Anyway, there was no time to find out.

“Two…” someone counted coarsely in the distance.

Sebastian considered his options. Ciel’s soul was too essential to be forfeited over a mere fear of discomfort. He must stay still until Ciel’s life was endangered, enduring the gunshot he would likely receive, and then promptly defend his master.

He could also dodge the bullet, which would mean Lizzie would be shot, and then act in the ensuing chaos to rescue Ciel. Of course, Ciel might grow to be more sadistic—would probably devise orders that explicitly involved Sebastian submitting himself to further injury as retribution—but none of that was now. In this fleeting instant of eternity, Sebastian did not wish to endure the terror and excruciation of being shot by his master.

The count of three was upon the assailant’s lips.

Ciel, meanwhile, was standing as calmly still as he and his bruised pride could manage. There was a mere instant left in the countdown; he must act, decisively. What was tenfold the pain of a gunshot wound, anyway? Would it be fatal? The earl thought that Sebastian’s expression was one shade too pitiful to be emotionless, which seemed to be the look he was attempting, and mentally apologized.

The gunman’s mouth offered up the word _three_. In tandem, Ciel closed his eyes, thought of Lizzie, and fired a shot straight into Sebastian’s heart.

But Sebastian had disappeared, a mess of dark, falling feathers appearing in the place of his human form, and being further scattered by the bullet. In the same instant an insurmountable wind appeared, disarming and buckling every assailant until the group lay lifeless, splayed on the grass at Ciel and Elizabeth’s feet. A moment later, wind and disembodied feathers reincorporated into Sebastian Michaelis, but a pale incarnation of the demon—one that bled profusely from a gaping hole blown in his chest and seemed able to neither breathe nor miraculously heal.

Ciel dropped to his knees in the grass, breaking Sebastian’s impending fall and cradling the demon’s head to the boy’s chest. Thin arms supported and comforted shuddering shoulders.

“Sebastian.” A tear dropped from Ciel’s cheek into the rather gory wound he had inflicted upon the demon. “You shouldn’t have—you shouldn’t have done that. I ordered you not to—let me.”

Sebastian, rendered physically unable to speak, said nothing.

Ciel hung his head, his tears now falling more liberally than any present party had imagined possible. The earl shook his head; it was all unfathomable. Changing form was taxing on a demon, even in the best of health, and still Sebastian had overextended himself, mortal injury and all, to intercept their attackers.

“Bloody idiot. You can’t possibly die without—finishing my—revenge or—” (Ciel was outright sobbing, but ignored the handkerchief Lizzie solicitously offered him) “—or staying with me until—until—” (the last bit was spoken almost too softly for Lizzie to hear) “… _until I don’t need you anymore_.”

Ciel dipped closer and pressed his lips to Sebastian’s damp forehead. One chaste and devastated kiss: an apology for a shattered promise and a miserable death, or perhaps thanks for something nameless and indefinable, some measure of comfort or companionship that the boy had needed and received. Needed and now lost.

They had _belonged_ together, in a way that Ciel rarely belonged to anyone or anything. It was correct that they work together, partnered against the world, at once partial and condescending toward humanity.

Ciel allowed himself to weep, inconsolable and ridiculous, until he had no tears left. Until the evening chilled and dampened, and Lizzie went indoors unasked to fetch blankets. Until at last the demon clutched in Ciel’s shaky arms stirred.

“My Lord,” Sebastian murmured.

“Sebastian—” Ciel collapsed into a new wave of tears and a chant of apologies.

“Dear me,” the demon said, in a weak voice that was either fond or mocking or both. “I die for a mere hour and my master becomes someone else entirely. The contract may no longer even be valid; the boy with whom I forged it would never fall apart in this manner, weeping like a child.”

Ciel sniffled and swiped a sleeve across his cheeks.

“Although to be honest—” Sebastian stretched, determined his body was not yet strong enough to rise, and grinned fanglessly at Ciel instead, “—I suppose we should both be grateful, for I believe it is your pity that recovered me.”

“How—?”

“Your tears and your—” Sebastian paused, smiled, “—your _kiss_ ; they repaired me. Masters need not only have an extraordinary effect when it comes to inflicting pain, you know. All of your emotions and our resulting interactions are magnified. Even your remorse toward me was more substantial than it would otherwise be.”

Ciel, speechless, simply gathered Sebastian more tightly into his arms.

“You’re really being quite pathetic, you know. _My Lord_.”

Ciel stroked Sebastian’s hair as if to pet a dog—a dog that had done something excellent and received a horrible reward for it.

“Are you still—afraid of me?” the boy hazarded quietly, heart hammering unbearably in his chest.

“Quite the contrary,” the demon replied. “Now that I know what it is like to be _shot in the chest_ by you, I expect I have nothing left to fear in this world.”

Though a part of him relished Ciel’s guilty shiver, Sebastian relented and sat upright, drawing his master into his arms for comfort. It would be difficult to console Ciel with words, but he cradled the exhausted boy, who rested a teary head on the demon’s almost-healed chest.

“Are you angry with me?” Ciel asked, voice small.

Sebastian contemplated the question.

“I am not,” he replied. “You chose to comply with your aesthetic—that of the dutiful noble—rather than indulge your silly, emotional whim of protecting a demon. …Why, if anything, My Lord, I am proud of you.”

The boy sniffled. “Proud that I broke my word? Or proud that I nearly killed you?”

“Impressed that you acted as the circumstances required. You will have a most refined soul when the time comes, Master.”

Ciel shivered again, for a different reason. At the same time, restored to his normal character and efficiency, Sebastian swept the earl up into his arms to carry him indoors and out of the dank weather.

“You’ve already healed,” Ciel murmured, fingertips curiously brushing ragged livery and the demon’s flesh. “Are you certain you’re all right?”

“As you can see, Master, my strength has returned without incident. Please, think nothing of it.”

“And of your broken trust? Your fears?”

“It is just as with the vase you bequeathed me,” explained the demon, after a moment’s reflection. His smile, safely above Ciel’s gaze, was fanged and hungry, but his words were soothing and honeyed. “ _Kintsugi_ , My Lord.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
